


End of Tomorrow

by RionaHGoch



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Arya Potter, Female Harry Potter, Immortal Harry Potter, Marauders' Era, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Powerful Harry, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:25:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RionaHGoch/pseuds/RionaHGoch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya Potter (Female Harry Potter) is old. In a universe where all magicals are hunted, she is the only one that can survive - because she sacrificed her death. No more friends, no more Hogwarts, no more family. And she wishes to say goodbye, oh merciful magic, thank you for a last chance. Back in the Marauders' Era, she has to face her nemesis again? A chance of remdeption or a ongoing punishment?<br/>- If you could return in time, would you?<br/>:This summary sucks but try the prologue, and you will probably understand better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, a very confusing summary and my second fanfic. 
> 
> Disclaimer: yes, this is a fanfiction so I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K. Rowling - you can think this without me saying. 
> 
> I don't have a beta. 
> 
> Hope you like!

> _If I go back and kill my grandfather, then there will be no one to marry my grandmother and have my dad, I will never be born and there won't be no one to kill my grandfather._
> 
> _\- The Grandfather Paradox, first proposed by the muggle Nat Schachner his short story Ancestral Voices_
> 
>  
> 
> _If something happened in the past, then it's bound to happen and nothing can prevent it.  A time-turner serves usually to this cause, so it can't be used to change facts that already happened, just to make them happen in present and to raise awareness of them._
> 
> _\- The Casual Loop, as explained at the book The History of Time, by Polaris Black._
> 
>  
> 
> _If ones inform other about something discovered in the past then, this information won't have any origin in the past. This could explain the knowledge without source that we end up discovering._
> 
> _\- The Bootstrap Paradox, named from By His Bootstraps by Robert Heinlein._
> 
>  
> 
> _“The moment someone travels to the past, this one travels to another dimension and nothing done there will alter one's native dimension.”_
> 
> _\- The Dimensional Paradox, excerpt from The Unchanged Time, by Chronus Termine._
> 
>  
> 
> _Something random happened has little chance of happening again when the past becomes present and the present destroys itself, becoming future. Nothing happened in the present can be repeated in the same way when someone changes part of the past. And the future cannot be foreseen._
> 
> _\- The Apocalypses Paradox, thought by Nortia Aevum in her book End of Today._

* * *

 

 

 

> _Be careful with what you wish._
> 
>  
> 
>  

* * *

 

Arya Potter had a wish. She wanted to say goodbye. To Hermione, to Ron, to Ginny, to Rose, to Teddy, to Remus, to George, to Fred, to Tonks, to Luna, o Charlie, to Bill, to Percy, to Molly, to Arthur, to Neville, to Draco, to Dromeda, to Cissy, to Fleur…to Dumbledore, Sirius, Cedric, Lily, James. Goodbye to everyone.

She was supposed to be dead, after trying to kill Voldemort for ten years she had done it, but paid the price. The muggles had discovered them and then, the few ones left to save were killed. Thirty years had passed since that, yet she didn't look older than twenty and probably less. Yet she was fifty-seven years old.

Arya was one of the last magical beings in the world however she understood she would be the last. After all she couldn't die. Walking in the ruins of Hogwarts, she raised a wall of the castle with a bit of magic, trying to rebuild it.

There once stood the Great Hall, once a celling enchanted to look like the sky had stolen thousands of _ooohs_ and _aaahs from_ children. The school where everyone was taught or had visited. When Hogwarts was closed as a school and became a bunker, they had their meetings in that hall. Millions of dead people had already walked in the Hall, and none of them had chosen to return in the latter years. She was alone, forever and never – always accompanied by her memories.

Arya didn’t regret. Regret is something made to self-forgiving fools that need a liquid to drown, a motivation to thrown their lives away. If she was there, then she couldn’t regret, because she was alive. Forever. _Cuz I killed my only chance to die._

She wished to be back to the war, when everyone was alive and happy. Or maybe before that, before the Triwizard Championship, before everything was lost. Kneeling in the broken stone floor, she let the tears break in her face, looking up to the sky, her magic wavering and hitting the building.

_I wish…_

* * *

 

 

The second Arya opened her eyes, she saw everything had changed. She was in the Great Hall, but it wasn’t destroyed and there were people there. Magical People. The light that shined through the windows and up the ceiling was the nocturnal light. She looked up to where used to be the Top Table and closed her eyes.

Dumbledore. Silver-haired as she had never seen him, besides him a young-looking witch with dark hair and sharp expression, Arya took a minute to recognize Minerva. Younger than she had been when Arya arrived at Hogwarts.

“Oh shit.” She sniffed, wiping her tears away. “Holy shit. Tyche must hate me and Moros definitely loves me.”

Yes, with her luck there was only one time when she could be. Arya tried to take another glance, this time to where should be the Gryffindor table. Yep, there was the coppery hair and then the unruly dark jet mop.

Easy to guess when. And who. 

 


	2. The Shadow of Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A chapter for you. Enjoy it and I'll publish another soon, if someone actually cares. I don't have a beta and Harry Potter is obviously not mine, but J.K. Rowling and everybody knows it. But please, enjoy it?

Arya supposed someone appearing in the middle of a bunch of kids who thought it was impossible to apparate in Hogwarts should cause a little commotion. A teen they never had seen, crying and swearing, showing up in the middle of the dinner while there was a Dark Lord outside the walls could cause another one. So it was understandable when some kids screamed and the Headmaster was forced to drag her to his office.

“I cannot tell you from where I came from, sir, but I can make an Unbreakable Vow that I have never and will never work to Voldemort and that I have no ill intentions towards your students now. I cannot risk saying the same about the future, but it’s enough to assure that I didn’t come here to kill anyone.” Arya said peacefully while sitting herself on a loveseat in the office she had been many times.

The Headmaster nodded and the woman stared at him dreamily. The man who had died when she was sixteen, so many years ago and some more in the future.  Arya knew she had to research a little more about time travel but she was almost sure about exactly how it worked – after all you didn’t life for years without searching magic, and she had spent her whole life doing that.

“Your name, my dear?”

“Arya…ahn, Arya Aion Prorsa.” She told him, remembering some mythological tales that she had come across with. It’s was weird but ironic – and she loved irony – what more fitting than picking up the names of the god of eternity and a goddess of future? Yes, weird, she could see it alone but hey, Arya was weird too and she didn’t fucking care.

“A very unique name, I assure you.” The wizard said with a smile. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.” _And some years more._ Fifteen was the perfect age, she wouldn’t have taken her O.W.L’s yet and it would be easier to explain everything – well, some things.

“Have you already studied magic before?”

“I’m home-schooled, sir. My father is dead now, so there is no one to return to.”

“Your mother? I’m afraid I’ve never heard about a Prorsa couple, are they magical?”

“Yes, my father family is from Greek. It’s not a surprise that you have never heard about us, to tell the truth, we have been travelling since my mother died when I was four. My father…well.” She explained in a sad tone, sobbing a little – it was all fake, but nobody could have known it. “We were in Macao.” She suffocated and gestured a “no” to his attempt to soothe her pain.

“I understand, my dear girl.” Silence reigned in the office while Dumbledore watched her. Probably, the future/past Dumbledore would have consoled her, but he didn’t know her and she preferred like that. The man she knew still didn’t exist.

“Yes,” she stated in a resolute tone, as if she was a strong girl that had decided to take action. “If I could, I would be glad to enroll in Hogwarts.”

“We would be pleased to welcome you. Please, try out the Sorting Hat and then I will call one of your house prefects.” Arya took the hat, already expecting it and lowering her mental shields.

**The Hat took a glance in her mind before walking back. : I don’t wanna see it. I know that you are fitted to all houses; however I refuse to watch your life. Nobody should know the life of a time-traveler.:**

**: So it’s up to me? Choosing the house I wish to be in? My last time was a little more…hard.: Both of them snickered, amused. : Yes, lady of time. Your choice is the one that will be recognized.: The Hat answered, making Arya wonder: _what to choose when everything seems painful? The more agonizing or the less?_**

**:Hufflepuff no, I’m too ironic to fit there. I don’t like studying, sure I’ve read more books than Albus or Filius but I’m not the academic kind and while I can be artistic I have already forgotten about it. Slytherin is too political to me, and I’ll kill everyone I know became a Death Eater. Gryffindor it’s too full of memories, but all of the Houses are. I guess I’ll always be a lioness in heart.:**

**:So mote it be.: “** Gryffindor! **”**

“Perfect. Amrose, could you please ask to Viola call Miss Evans here?” The old man in a portrait agreed, and Arya didn’t ask any questions, knowing that Viola Springgs was the Fat Lady real name and choosing to focus in her mother’s name.

Her mother. She would be her mother’s classmate, maybe roommate. And her father’s, and Sirius’s and Remus’s and Frank’s. She would see the couple she had seen all her life as vegetables speaking, and would be able to touch her mother. But she didn’t have a mother – the realization hit her – neither a father nor a godfather. And Teddy wasn’t born, neither Hermione nor Ron. It would be a Gryffindor without the Golden Trio, without the family she had created to herself.

* * *

Lily Evans watched the girl sat in the Headmaster’s office. She was gorgeous, Lily herself knew she was pretty but nothing like the girl, her beauty was mature, even more than the eighth years, and she had the prettiest eyes she had seen, green like Lily’s but hard and fierce. The mysterious girl had a serious aura and sad, her plum lips contrasted with her pale complexion and wild dark strands adorned her face in waves, the body was so slender but curved that she looked like an adult, not a teen. It was a little weird.

“I’m Arya Aion Prorsa.” She said with a tired smile and something else Lily couldn’t understand. But she understood a thing. _Pureblood._ Only pureblood had such unique names, but the girl didn’t seemed to mind her being a muggleborn when she introduced herself. Soon both of them were walking to the common room and Lily had settled her in one of the vacant rooms, as the fifth years dormitory was already full.

 

* * *

Arya hadn’t sleep that night, but that was expected, she had learned to don’t fall into the Dream world long time ago and now she had a great insomnia. Besides, she had talked, and even touched her mother’s hand, and that thought couldn’t leave her as the night started to give space to day.  She had finally a date – September 13th in 1975, a Saturday, she had arrived in Friday. That meant that her mother, her father and Remus were fourteen and Sirius would turn fifteen next week.

When she had arrived at the Great Hall that morning she was greeted by silence - something she had associated with her appearance the night before - but soon Sirius had dragged her to the Marauders saying something like: “You are hot, know it?”

“Someone must have already told me.” She said grinning. “Hot, funny and popular, it makes me remember someone.” The Black Heir commented, presenting her to his friends, Peter, Remus - oh she remembered his corpse, laying there with Tonks, she had failed with him…Arya looked away, ashamed – James and his mop hair, the father she had never had, and never would, at fifty she couldn’t consider that teen her father, even if he looked to be just slightly younger than herself. They were around some other wizards, she recognized Frank and a girl that reminded her of a Slytherin girl she had never know the name. There was a ginger couple almost swallowing each other, Molly and Arthur – the twins would have enjoyed knowing that their parents were so daring in the beginning of the morning.

After refusing to answer any questions about her appearance the other night they had moved on, asking Arya about her life. She had told them that she had been travelling since a baby around the world, something that was very easy to ensure to her as she had done almost twenty years of travelling. They had asked for a story.

“Well, let me see. My first time in India was when I was eight. My father, Vasilis Prorsa, had been searching for a wizard that had supposedly lived for three hundreds of years – several people were, all of them thinking about a new Sorcerer’s Stone. Actually the man had the same name of his father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, well, you understood, they all looked the same, too, but this doesn’t matter.”

“Yes, we can see it.” Answered James in a cynical tone. “ ‘Cuz everyday people are the carbon copy of their parents.” Arya smiled – _you don’t know how common it is, dad._

“Yes, glad you got the point. So, we were wandering in the Kṣaitija Market – it’s great ya’ know, the Nagas and Yakshas are very interesting. We end up finding nothing, of course, but before my father gave up I was facing a giant king cobra…” She laughed. “Oh, I assure you that you’ve never such commotion, it makes yesterday night child’s play.”

“Never been in India before, how is it?” James inquired, curiously.

“Crowded. Colorful and pretty, too. When you go to there, talk to me. I have some friends there and they’d be glad to help.”

“Where else have you been?” Peter asked. Arya eyed him carefully – there was sat her parents’ betrayer, but what could she do? Kill him? Hum…she could think about that. Well, answering wouldn’t be that bad, after all he had done nothing that time.

“Albania, Argentina, Algeria, Australia, Austria, Bolivia, Bulgaria, Brazil, Belgium, Canada, Chile, China, Cambodia, Denmark, England, Egypt, France, Finland, Philippines, Germany, Greece, Hungary, Haiti, India, Indonesia, Iceland, Ireland, Iraq, Italia, Jamaica, Japan, Korea, Lithuania, Laos, Libya, Mexico, Morocco, Malaysia, Macau, Norway, Netherlands, New Zealand, Oman, Poland, Portugal, Romania, Slovakia, Singapore, Sweden, Scotland, Switzerland, Spain, Sudan, Turkey, Tunisia, Ukraine, United Kingdom, URSS, USA, Vatican and Zambia. Those are all if I haven’t forgotten anyone.”

“Your stand here will be boring so.” Sirius winked. “Well, let me see what we can do for you. Prongs, what do you think?”

“A bored girl is our specialty. Wanna go to Hogsmeade today?”

That was basically how she got a date with her father. It wasn’t a date as they were five, but probably the most romantic stage she could take in, flirting with her dad in front of her mother was freaking her out.

Hogsmeade hadn’t changed a lot when compared to her Hogwarts’ years so she had almost cried when she saw the village again – in the future there was nothing, even a stone to show that once a village lived there. Ten years after Voldemort’s fall the smoke reached the sky, resulted from the last muggle attack to the village, when the stone had vanished. Arya had stayed there for a week, without sitting, eating or drinking, without dying because of it but wishing so. She had impressed her footprints for the whole ground until there was no way to recognize them – in the whole village.

She had waited for life, however life had left everyone but her.

Maybe it wasn’t flirting with her dad that was freaking her out.

Ronald had once said that if he returned in time, he would go to his and Hermione’s first making out. Hermione had told them she would be in the time she had discovered magic, but later that night she had confided her truth – the time where she was still a muggle and had her parents with her. Arya hadn’t answered that day, that time she didn1t know the answer, but when they had died, she understood – she wished for the time where she could still die with them.

But that time was impossible to reach, it still was.

While she watched those children – who had born before her, but would always be younger than her. They were happy, and they could die. James watched Lily with a fond look while she talked with America Moon and Alice Spencer. Love. Arya had never met that kind of love, she only knew of sex.

Suddenly, Snape arrived with two of his friends, Lestrange and Avery if she remembered well - the  formed was the brother-in-law of Bellatrix in the future. Motioning to them, the Slytherin separated himself from his peers and walked to Lily's table. James watched them with jealousy and Arya knew he would explode if the interaction continued.

Exchanging glances with Remus who eyed his friend carefully they stood up, inviting the Marauders to some sweet in Honeydunkes. Madam Rosemerta, still in her twenties, waved to them.

There were other faces that Arya recognized, Regulus Black as a fourth year, Amelia Bones and Amos Diggory and so many others she couldn't remember. People that reminded her of her past/future-classmates. Dead people, she hadn't seen anyone that was still alive in her time.

* * *

Much later that night, when all students should already been in lalaland for some hours, Arya was sat in the library, a bunch of books she had already read in her table. The History of Time, Unchanged Time, End of Today, A Bare Loop and Sands of Consequences. She had ignored the Grandfather Paradox, as the non-action method seemed to be impossible the time she had gone back. There were other theories that she had refuted right away, knowing they weren't the case.

If the Predestination Paradox were right, she wouldn't be able to avoid it. This theory seemed to work with the time-turners. The same to the Ontological Paradox. Both of the Dimensional Paradox and the Apocalypses Paradox were worrying and depressing, the idea of her being the only one to know the future and that version was suffocating. One time during the night she had thought she was trapped in a simulation, but soon discarded the idea.

Hearing someone approaching, she turned to see a disheveled-looking Lupin, his eyes with dark profound bags, like a Panda. Cute. “Isn't a bit late?” The werewolf questioned, his eyebrows arched up.

“I ask the same, I was doing just some research. What about you?”

“Looking to the moon.” She smiled at that, a werewolf looking at the moon. “Next weekend will be full moon.” The lion flinched, without knowing that she knew.

“What would you do if you had the chance to save someone, betting one's life?” She mumbled to the wizard that had a weird look in his face. Remus sat beside her, his hand lost in the table.

“Any chance to save a life is a worth chance.” She smiled silently to that quote, his response was so pure, so young. Nodding to him, she started a pleasant-silence without the awkwardness that usually characterized moments like that.

He took a glance at the books, but they were all in foreign languages. “Is it in Dutch?” Remus pointed to End of Today. “German. Nortia is German, too. Polaris is from the French branch of Blacks and Termine from Italy.”

“Ende von Heute, is how do you say it?” He asked, grabbing one of the books. “Yes. It means End of Today.”

“Never heard about it.”

“It wasn't published in English, it's a surprise that the library has a copy, to tell the truth.”

“Hogwarts’s Library is the largest in the Wizarding World. I like books, Prongs, Padfoot and Wormtail despise them and I’m sure they have never read anything else besides school books and Quidditch. But I like them.”

“Well, nobody can blame them, if the school books are their first impression of literature, they won’t want to read anything else at all. They’re dreadful.” She said, waving to him a copy of their Arithmancy book. I picked Arithmancy and Ancient Runes as electives, if I can I’m going to Alchemy next year. I’m also doing Ancient Studies and Magical Theory. What about you?”

“Arithmancy and Care of Magical Creatures. I’m also in Magical Theory and Ghoul Studies. At the beginning of the year Prongs carried Wormtail to the Choir and Padfoot and I tried the Orchestra, all of us were expelled the same day. Flitwick wasn’t very happy after that.” He told her in a low voice, as if that was a secret, causing her to giggle.

They continued to talk, from books to chocolate and then to family – well, Remus’s family, as she refused. Even if the future, she didn’t know a lot about his family, as they had never time to talk about it. Basing her in his description, she found the Lupin couple cute, from their first meeting, as if Hope Howell’s knight in a white horse was Lyall Lupin to their support to their son (Remus had avoided explaining the nature of his problem, choosing to say he had some difficulties in childhood and ending that matter. She knew, of course, that he was a werewolf, but he didn’t know that). She had conjured the image of a Remus with hazel eyes and darker hair to his forty-five years father, in a very elegant aura, fitted to a renowned wizard. Hope Lupin was in her mind an easygoing woman with short spiky chestnut hair and green twinkling eyes, pretty but bright, and small, she had to be small even in her thirty-nine years.

It was a quarter to six when she woke up, her face pressed against the table, her shoulders sharing Remus’s cloak with its owner. They had fallen asleep, great. Now they had to run away before the first students began to rise up. “Moony.” She called, shaking his body gently until he woke up.

“Where am I?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “Library, and we need to go if you don’t fancy a detention.”

“Yes, good idea.” Arya grabbed his arm, dragging the wizard to the rooms of a just graduated Irma Pince. “And I was thinking that we should go in the opposite direction.” Remus commented with sarcasm before Arya poked his ribs. “Quiet! Come.”

Before invading the bedroom of the librarian, Arya passed through a small door behind one of the bookcases, a secret passage she had discovered when  she was twenty-one. “How did you know of this way? You arrived here the day before yesterday!”

“Found it some minutes ago, don’t know where it will take us, but it’s a great hiding place, at least.” She knew the passage would end at the Gryffindor tower, but Remus didn’t have to know that. Faking her surprise when they arrived wasn’t that hard.

“Thank you, Arya.”


	3. Anthem to the Lost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of schooling in the 70's? Yeah, making friends, partying. I don't have a beta and Harry Potter is not mine, obviously.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate the Arya I show here. She is a bitch, I agree, but it wouldn't make sense having a sixty years time-traveler that survived the apocalypse to be extremely ethical. She is a great person, but she needs to fixed and that it's a long journey. The main relationship here is Arya/Remus, but this will only happen much later.

September 15th, 1975 – Scotland

Arya’s first class at Monday was Defense Against Dark Arts, with the Slytherins, taught by Maeve Fannon – a ginger woman with muddy eyes. Arya watched the crowd of students until her eyes stopped in an olive-skinned girl with straight dark hair and honey eyes, her full lips drawing a snicker while staring at her. She recognized that type.

“Can I sit here?” The Gryffindor asked.

“Sure.” The snake answered. “If you don’t have the intention of fucking me up in the class, the rest is easy.” Arya snorted. “So, I will sit. How is the professor?”

“Virgin. Just graduated, former lioness.” The other witch answered,  “I would do with just virgin.” Arya laughed.

“Ms. Prorsa, maybe you could talk with Ms. Zabini after class, whatever may your theme be. I’m sure that my classes will be very instructive to someone who has never the proper instruction.”

“Sure, Professor.”

“Very well. The reducto curse is used to blast solid into pieces, usually reducing the target into mist or ashes. The incantation comes from the Latin to reduce, or bring down. We will practice this spell today, but as it can be really dangerous, I ask for you to distance yourselves from your classmates. Yes, stand aside while I show you.”

The witch shattered a small rock into pieces, and then continued to show the wand movement to them, making they repeat the curse after her without their wands. “Yes, maybe one of our students wants to try? Miss Oaken, would you?”

Shannon casted the spell, which only cracked one of the stones the teacher had disposed. “It was a great first try, Ms. Oaken. Thank you. Anyone else?”

“May I, Professor?” Arya offered, without any care that her actions could be suspicious, as it was her first class day. “Please, Ms. Prorsa. But I must tell you that it’s a very advanced spell to someone who has never the proper education.”

“I will try my best. May I?” As the professor nodded, Arya didn’t think twice before waving her Elder Wand and barely whispering: “ _Reducto._ ” The stone became steam in front of their eyes. “I want you to teach me later.” The Zabini witch whispered in her ear.

* * *

 

“You had to see Fannon face when you did the reducto, Arya!” Peter had laughed in the lunch, waving a piece of meat in her face. “It was hilarious.”

As Arya had decided she wouldn’t blame Peter for his future deeds without a reason, and that she wouldn’t give him a reason to them, Arya had no problem answering him: “Nah…I prefer you guys telling me. So, Potter, what are you doing?” She asked, snatching a paper in his hands.

“Easy money. The student body always throws illegal parties at Fridays and Saturday, yes, you lost two. Well, this year we are the Black Market of drinks so I was counting our profits from the last weekend.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “And you were doing this at the middle of the lunch? Great. And you Remus?” The boy raised his eyes from the large book he was reading before answering: “Two weeks ago Prongs gave an idea and I’m trying to work out it. Any idea on how to track everyone in Hogwarts?”

So, she was watching the creation of the Marauders’ Map, very interesting. She remembered the time it had been destroyed, for their safety, and she missed it. “Have you already read about the Homunculus Charm?” Arya knew it had been used in the original, so it was a more than worthy shot.

“Never heard about it, can you tell me a book for reference?”

“I only read about it in one book, in Cambodia. You will need a translating spell. The name is _Selb nei Charokam_ by Kosal Raksmei. I can buy it for you if you want.”

“Are you serious?”

“No,” She pointed to Sirius. “He is. I’m offended that you think of me as a boy.” They laughed at the infamy of the joke while Sirius grinned and declared that he was always “serious”. Arya felt the burning gazes of dozens of lower years in her back and winked at the smaller girls. “Yes, Sirius-gentleman, I have good news to you.” The witch motioned to him to approach her: “There is a bunch of fan girls eating me alive, if you want to be a fucking pedophile they are very eager to help.”

“Thank you, baby.” He whispered in return.

“You’re welcome, dude. Make they entertained, I love those chicks.”

James choked with his pumpkin juice at that: “Godric knows that you are the first girl to love these chicks like this.”

“They should hate me less, don’t you think?” Arya questioned, fighting with Remus for chocolate. “Oh, don’t tell me you like chicks, I was hoping for a relationship with you!” Peter teased.

“I pick whatever I felt liking picking, Pettigrew, man or woman. You are out, by the way. And I don’t have relationships.” She laughed at the fake-humiliated face he had mastered and at his even fakest “Ouch”.

“This, is how you tell someone to sit on it.” James stated. Arya took two seconds longer to understand the statement, but finally she made the connection between “Sit on it” and “Shut up” and “Go to hell” – Merlin curse 70’s slangs she had been living in 2037 until three days before. Then, they had all got up.

“We have Herbology with the badger know. Wanna sit with us? Sprout will have a heart attack thinking about a new Marauder.” Her not-father asked and she could only nod while her not-family wrapped her shoulders with theirs arms, pulling her head forward.

“Merlin, this is going to be funny!” Sirius beamed in front of them and James detached himself from their formation to give the wizard some flicks. Beside her, Remus huffed indignantly: “Boys will never be men. I’m going to reserve some seats for you two.” And then she was left alone with Pettigrew.

“I cannot believe that they did it.” The boy beside her flinched.

“Did what?”

“They all think that I had some kind of crush in you. How it’s that possible, if I only know since Friday, I wonder.” He didn’t look ashamed so he really hadn’t a crush in her. Good, she wasn’t going to hate Pettigrew and he wasn’t horrible, but Arya had no plans of dating him – or anyone – she was almost sixty and had a war to win – again.

“Well, I have shagged with boys that I have never said a word to, even Hi. But I suppose it don’t works here.”

“See, this isn’t exactly my type of girl. You are sexy, independent, smart and…”

“…a whore. You forget the manly problem. Your type is the innocent and homely girl, that wants to have a relationship. I can see that even if Sirius and James have some experience, even Remus has – yes, Peter – they have no experience with the love life of their friends. Must be a men’ fault as I’ve arrived Friday and know all the love life of my roommates, most relationships of the whole Gryffindor Tower and dozens of gossips about other houses.” Arya laughed. “A whole mountain of rubbish. Never ask relationship councils to me.”

“I thought whores asked for money.”

“Oh, I don't have any problem accepting it. Now it's better if we dropped the subject, don't you think?” She asked to Pettigrew, finally making him notice the rest of the class they have just arrived and turning him pink. “Chill out, dude, we were talking about me, not you.” She laughed before shouting _its fifty galleons the half-hour,_ making the whole class gasp and her laughter grown louder.

“Sweet kids, aren't they?” Arya asked to James, who grinned. Well, not all of them were children, Sprout looked horrified with the idea she had raised.

“People are going to believe you really need money, you know.” Remus told her, watching the wary glances toward her group. She shuddered.

“Or that you are desperate.” Peter informed and again, she didn't care.

“Or that you are shagging with one of us - or all of us.” Sirius and James made a high-five when her face sneered in disgust and she made a puke noise.

“Ugh…someone save me.”

They all laughed. “Bitch.” Sirius said, in a hurt tone that was pure lies.

“Called me?”

* * *

 

September 19th, 1975 – Scotland

There was a word to the 1970’s Hogwarts but Arya didn’t know it. She supposed you could call it a brothel or a harem, but it wasn’t exactly fitting; there were parties every night at Slytherin and Gryffindor, there were drugs in all common rooms and sex everywhere – so an extension of the general 1970’s in a boarding school. The _Foetus Expulsis_ was the most popular abortive charm and the _Semine Mortem_ the most used preventive potion, you could easily obtain it at the Hospital Wing and nobody even questioned you about getting it – very helpful. SDTs weren’t a risk as wizards and witches rarely acquired any kind of muggle disease.

Everybody seemed to use the excuse of a war outside the school to make sex, what wasn’t surprising at all. Lily was one of the only virgins of her year and that was because a rather obsessive Severus Snape and other possessive James Potter fighting over her.

“Merlin’s beard, this isn’t getting good, you know.” Jennifer Kimberly complained in front of the mirror. The wavy blonde was using denim dungaree shorts and a ripped black shirt, combat boots and was trying (and failing) to draw pencil eyebrows. “Let me try.” The sixth year Helena Fawcett volunteered, carrying Arya with her, while the girl finished the brunette hair.

“Your dress is so caposhi, Arya!” Shannon Oaken complimented, dressed in fully afro fashion with hip-huggers and a crop top. Arya had taken a week to be used with the style, but after that things had gone smoothly. She was using a black low-cut dress with long sleeves which showed almost her whole breasts with a sheath mini-skirt. A great amount of skin balanced by go-go black boots; art-deco silver earings and an onyx bracelet.

“Thanks, Anna. You look like a very foxy chick. Are you coming, Lils?”           

“I was thinking about it. I don’t want to be abandoned again.” She pouted at Arya. “But I’m not shagadelic as you. And I don’t have clothes.”

“Thank you. Let me see what I have for you.” Arya had purchased a lot of cloths after transfiguring stones into jewels and artifacts and selling them into wizarding world, saying they come from her travels. Transfiguration wasn’t supposed to be a permanent magic, but witches weren’t also supposed to be immortal and Arya had long ago mastered an art that nobody could exactly remember, with chemistry as well and for ten years she had been transforming objects that had never returned to their original forms if she didn’t wish for them do it. Merlin was said to be the last one able to do that, and everything he had transformed returned to their origins when he died – that wasn’t also her worry, as she couldn’t die. She had also transfigured several of her clothing, and everything else. It was very convenient.

Grabbing a dirndl gathers blue skirt and a matching off-the-shoulder blouse she tossed the clothes and platform brown sandals to the ginger. A light make-up did the rest of the effect of making her mother one hell of a babe.

Arya had to stop the family analogies. If she didn't remind herself she was going to be fine.

“Are you decent, girls?” A Carol Weimargen peeked over the room, using a smudgy-pink georgette dress and blonde curls. The fashion was very eclectic.

The party that night was at the dungeons, so thrown by a Slytherin. The Snake-Lion rivalry didn't prevent their invitations to each other parties, but usually ended up in very heated fights that everyone loved. She waved at Alice Spencer who was dancing with Frank Longbottom, and other girls that weren't too occupied snogging.

Anthea Zabini smiled to her, sending her last man away, but they didn't exchanged words. “Well, Lily, Sev didn't and I doubt he will if you didn't tell him before. But Prongs is there and he would kill for a dance with you.” Arya whispered, sending Lily away with an hesitant pace and detaching herself from the other Gryffindors.

Some student, probably a muggleborn, seemed to have enticed a muggle playlist on the music system but nobody seemed to care to list Bee Gees, Village People, Queen, Ramones, Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, the classic Beatles and Elvis, someone had even acquired the just launched (eleven days ago) Wish You Were Here, Pink Floyd's album and Arya felt a little affected by the title.

Leaning on the balcony she watched the fourth year Regulus Black eyeing her carefully, asking her order. “What are you doing here?” She asked.

“Anthea requested, it's good to raise alliances.”

“Just don't let your brother see you. Do you have something strong?” She liked Sirius's brother. Reg was a brat, truth, and Padfoot hated him, but in the future he had risked his life doing the right thing and destroyed a Horcrux so she could pardon here.

“Never saw anyone handling these one with ease. Pixie Vodka.” The boy answered cheeky and Arya knew she could hold it, her body replenished itself, but the thing was good so she took another sip and threw a galleon. “Thanks, dude.”

“Hey, Baby. Wanna boogy?”  A voice behind her asked. Arya smiled, she had never seen her technique don’t working, or maybe it was just her. A raven, pretty one. Dark auburn hair shoving against his neck and his hazel eyes searching for her own.

“Sure. Let’s boogie.” She answered, setting her glass down and taking his hand. Oh, how she loved to dance.

That night she was still young.

Copying his movements, or maybe he was copying hers, they settled themselves a little stage, dancing and rubbing against each other. His name was Hugo Flint. She told him she had known a Hugo once and that he was a great man. But avoided saying he was dead, or was still-not-born.

Arya didn’t remember the Flint of her school that time, because she had locked most of her Hogwarts’ memories. So, she had no qualms about his hands in her hips, and then in her breasts. Caressing her skin, circling her nipples, searching for her mouth. Indeed, dancing sometimes meant snogging in the dancefloor.

Her hands were around his neck, pushing him closer, and playing with his nape hair. “Morgana, you are so hot!” He shouted, and she laughed. Yes, she loved it. “Thank you, hunk.” Arya answered, wrapping her legs around his hips, barely listening the music while he shoved her in the wall.

“What do I do now?” Hugo asked, his voice husky and very excited. She couldn’t blame him as she was also almost like him. “Now…we shag.”

He didn’t need any other incentive. As the words got out her mouth, he was already attacking it, and lifting her skirt. Her arms were supported by his back, and he had removed all he needed for that. She could felt it sliding, penetrating, and his hands in her body, lusting after it. Arya didn’t care. She could only understand sex, not love. So that was the perfection for her. The vodka didn’t numb her senses, and she would still be able to solve mathematic problems if she wasn’t sunk in regret and grief. All that matter was that she was still able to fight, and fighting was like a sixth sense to her, so she would always be able to do it.

Both of them were left moaning, rustling and fucking. And then she left him, panting in the wall. Regulus waved for her and she walked to there, taking another drink.

“Great performance there.” She turned to see Anthea with a drink. “What is this?” Arya asked, taking the glass from her and drinking.

“Firewhiskey. He will want a second time.”

“Nah, he knows I am a slut. Everybody knows.”

“No, baby, you are a whore. I am a slut. And you are going to get drunk.” The Slytherin told her, watching her set another glass of something with alcohol that Regulus gave to her.

“Whatever. Reg, you feel like a gay-friend, setting my drinks.” The fourth year laughed and Arya winked to the sixth year girl beside her. “See, he loves it. Zabini, has someone for me?”

“Lysander Davies in the eighth year is your type – two legs and pretty face. He isn’t experienced but this isn’t a problem to you. He is in Slytherin. Then we have Eric Fawley, sixth year and Hufflepuff. Too caring, but has pretty much experience. And the Gryffindor Helios Esterna, he is a caveman, but it’s handsome and experienced. In eighth year too.”

“A little unsure about lions, where are the others?”

“Davies is the blond tall guy that looks like a shining prince.” Regulus interfered. “Fawley is the dark blondie snogging with Melàine Macmillan, but they are going to split up soon because they are friends. Then Esterna is avoiding a bunch of girls and looking to us since three minutes ago. If you also want to know Evans is with a bunch of chicks talking about boys, my dear brother gang is being hit by other bunch of girls, Oaken is dancing with Stebbins and Kimberly and Fawcett found themselves in a heated hug. Spencer and Longbottom are together, very cute. Must I continue?”

“Thanks, Reg. Now I can see what exactly means to be the barman. And the Lestrange boy fancies you, so why don’t you look for him? I’m considering a pretty and innocent Slytherin. Ugh, this leaves a bad taste in my tongue, innocent Slytherin. Don’t you think?” Arya asked, already getting up and hunting for the Davies guy.

Three hours later, Arya found herself being in her last target arms in the Gryffindor Tower, Head Boy Chambers. There were some advantages in being the best friend of the Head Boy, and Helios didn’t hesitate in using them. “You are such a whore.” He said, throwing her in the bed. She snickered while he held her hands up, kissing her violently.

“You saw me looking at you, yet you still dared to ignore me for some bloody virgins. How much did that Slytherin pay you? And the Raven and the Badger, did they pay as well? He attacked her passionately between breaths, one of his hands in her wrists and the other in her breasts, and sliding down.

“I remember saying something about fifty galleons the half-hour, your friends didn't tell you?” She joked, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“Such a whore.” They fucked their second time in that position, but when that was over and they had rested for a while, Arya jumped into his body, preparing herself to his pleasure and then riding him and moaning, impaling herself. They had slept then, as the Head Boy wasn't returning and they were too tired. At the morning, they were very eager to more two rounds and took much advantage of it.

* * *

Around eleven at the morning, when Arya sneaked to her room, there was not difference between her and a very successful whore, and she was glad that she was still a cold-blooded woman. Lily stared at her, seeing her arrival in at least crumpled clothes – a better definition would be that an elephant had trampled them. It was very easy to say where she had been, not that the students weren’t chatting about it anyway.

Shannon patted her shoulders, grinning. “Hey, I had a good night if you are asking, sexy. Martin is great, but I pretty sure mine wasn’t better than yours. Everyone is talking, you are the wet-dream of every guy in Hogwarts now. Well, better take care of my guy if I don’t want him becoming one of yours.” The girl who reminded her of coffee – in appearance and scent, but surely not in personality – waved to her, leaving the dormitory. America Moon, a girl with downturned huge eyes smiled to her, but went away before they could change words.

Arya was left alone with Lily, that looked quite angry. “Four times is what everybody knows. How much?”

“Are you seriously asking me how many times we did sex?” Lily continued to eye her, as if she had the right to ask. _Well, technically she is my mother, and maybe mother do this. Or maybe not. I wouldn’t ask if I had a whore daughter._

“Three yesterday, two today. Satisfied?”

“Eight! You fucked eight times with five guys in one night! You are...a prostitute. When they told me I didn’t want to believe, but you are. It’s disgusting.”

“Oh, it’s sex. There is nothing so disgusting in it. It was consensual, pleasurable and safe, it was good. I fuck for pure lust and pleasure and that’s all. Money can be received as a disguise – as the statement that we don’t care for the other, that it didn’t mean anything. But I didn’t receive money from Esterna so he must understand – we can do it again but it won’t, ever, mean something. I  don’t want a relationship and I’ll never want.” Arya picked a new set of clothes - a pair of khaki bell button pants, a light pink sweater and a maroon triangle scarf.

“Don’t you believe in love?” Lily asked, a little resigned. Arya smiled and putted her hands around the face of her friend, kissing her forehead. “No, _mi carina_ ,” she grabbed a pair of black converses and opened the door. “It’s just that I don’t deserve it.” And shut the door. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a lot of slangs I had no idea existed before searching them, you can also do it if you want. I gave a chance to Peter. I love kudos, comments and bookmarks, by the way.


	4. Pardon of the Wrecked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are bothered by suicide, don''t read this story. Arya will attempt it many times, even when the story continues. This isn't a phase, you see, is her life. Her sleeping around just a phase, is her surviving instinct. There will be opening to friends, and having a true relationship, but not forgetting about the future. She is almost sixty, an adult. Forgetting would mean forgetting her identity and losing herself.   
> Arya isn't depressed, by the way. She is not depressive, she is not suffering the aftermath of an experience, she is suffering her wrecked life.

Arya groaned as her hangover raised a ruckus in her head. With her wet hair freezing her shoulders as she threw her head backwards, her body crumbling in a loveseat at the Common Room. “Ugh…I love drinking, but Merlin knowns that the aftermath isn’t that great.”

Remus smirked to her, tossing a muddy vial to her. “Drink it. Snape won’t notice that this potion isn’t at his trunk; he has too much of this one. I bet the whole Slytherin pays to him brew.” The smell of vomit was the only thing Arya could sense as she brought the potion to her nose. Yeah, nobody has already praised Severus Snape for his potions’ smell, but they bloody worked. Her war-veteran instincts pointed out that it could be poison, but it was also the war-veteran that didn’t care a lot if she ended up dying, so she just gulped it down.

And it worked, after the conviction that she had just been cursed with a forever lasting bad breath – that flew away after her hangover ended, to her joy. “Never thought you would be the kind that sneaked away to steal from others. Sirius, James, or even Peter I could believe, but you? No, not you, Remy.”

Remus grinned at her. “James? That bloke wouldn’t be able to sneak to save his life. Sirius must have some hidden Black House ninja ability, but he thinks too much with his lower brain to link Snape with hangover. Peter helped me, though.”

Arya laughed as Remus faked a guilty expression at his last statement. “Yeah, guess you aren’t that great then, Lupin, and I had just started to think you were a bad boy. Tsk, tsk. Such a waste. But really? Insulting your mates? Isn’t there a law saying it forbidden? Like Girl Code? Do you braid your hair, too?”

“I thought you were kind of the outcast of the girl community.” Peter said with a devious smile. “Had you and Zabini had a pillow fight already? I would like to see it.”

“Oh Merlin, this sounds wrong!” Arya laughed as she shoved the shortest boy from her couch. Peter bowed lowly to her before laying at another couch with soft “Humpf!”.

Arya banished the vial, wishing for it to reappear at Severus’s belongings. The lunch had just ended, but a quarter of the Gryffindor Tower was still sleeping at their beds, lazily. Her blurred memories of faraway in the future Hogwarts lead her to believe that the school at the 70’s was just _a little more_ lively at night than at the 90’s. Maybe it was because the worst years of Voldemort’s War still hadn’t happened, maybe because it was the 70’s.

The war was going on since 1970, but at 1975, things were silent. There was many muggles dying, but not wizards. The War still had to get much worse; the Order would be created at the end of 1976, when the Death Eaters raided the Hogwarts Express that brought students to their homes to celebrate holidays. That would be the beginning of the end. An end that was her parents’ deaths. An end that was actually just fourteen years of armistice, which would lead to much more heinous war.

A war that would last for other thirteen years. Then another; a genocide of the whole wizarding world. Arya had never lived her life without conflicts. Never, even one year of her life. She had started the truce of the First Wizarding War, but then, she had been cursed with a life in the Dursleys – a childhood of neglect and abuse. When she had turned elven, she had hoped. Then she had killed her teacher because he was hosting the murderer of her parents

When she was twelve, she had to kill a bloody giant snake that the same murderer had thrown to her after possessing her mate’s sister. Arya could say that her most peaceful year after discovering the Wizarding World was when an innocent man framed for murder of her parents had escaped from the prison after one of the people responsible for her parents’ death and she had to face an werewolf and the servants of fear itself. Well, at least that year nobody had died.

Then the Second War had begun and death had become her most faithful company, friend. The friend she couldn’t walk with, but that never abandoned her. She was twenty-seven when she had killed Voldemort. That time, she hadn’t dared to hope. She had known her life was just too messed up to be peaceful. Some had said she had PTSD. She had doubted for some time that she was just crazy. Then, it had started. And she had laughed at those who had said she had to heal. Because she was right.

Fate had joined Life and Chaos and together they had cursed her life to damnation. Certainly.

She scoffed at the sight that waited her when she opened her eyes. There were them, one of the murder of her parents and the werewolf who had learnt to hate him. And running down the stairs were a disgruntled looking Azkaban-escapee who had escaped from his prison in Fear’s Reigns to kill the first and to meet the second; to avenge the fourth that descended the stairs, rubbing his eyes and adjusting his glasses, the victim that had ended the first part of a forever lasting war. They were laughing and smiling, all together. Joking and groaning at their drunkenness.

Arya forced a sad smile as she notice her own position. What was she? The Immortal One, The Witch of Colors, The Sorceress of Gray, Light Lady, The Mistress of Death, The General, Commander, The Lord Slayer, The Savior, Heroine, The Chosen One, Girl-Who-Lived, Champion, Seeker of Gryffindor, Lightning, Prongslet, Potter’s Heiress, Peverell’s Heiress, Slytherin’s Heiress, Black’s Heiress, Time Traveler…Undesirable No.1, Scarhead, Potter the Plotter, Saint Potter, Precious Potter, The Hag, Experiment No. 414251, Prisoner  No. 32512314.… _Freak_. Her name, what was her name?

Lillianne. Lilliane Hoster. No, she had said it. Plotter. Potter.  Arya. Arya Aion. The deity of eternity. Prorsa, Antevorta, the goddess of future. Why she had chosen this name? Oh yes.

_To remind me that I don’t belong here._

That Lily Evans and James Potter could become the parents of one Arya Potter if she managed to save them. She had to. But that they would never be her family.

Picking up a Sirius’s line about the beautiful girl he had shagged that night, Arya retorted: “Nothing like a succubus in a lap-dance.” She grinned at them, remembering the time she had dragged Ron to a cabaret at his bachelor party; she being the only female at the whole group because someone had to fill the gap Seasmus’s death had vacated. It had been bittersweet; the boys couldn’t remember very well that night because they had drowned themselves into alcohol until getting into a drunken blackout. 

She had been the only one who could remember everything and teased them countless times because of it, at it wasn’t due lack of trying.   They were in war, and with war feeling just got duller. They could still laugh while mourning, because if you didn’t laugh, then you would die with a sad expression, and people would only remember you as the depressed guy.

Arya laughed at that thought, finally noticing the puzzled faces at her whole behavior. They didn’t understand her. Of course they didn’t. They were just kids to whom the thought that the fact of her fucking eight guys at one night was remarkable. But it wasn’t. It was just sex, rough or gentle. Pleasurable or not. Forced or begged for. She had experimented all of them.

And after the fifth time she was impaled for weeks by several unknown crotchs without wishing for it, she had learnt that sex meant nothing. That could be pleasurable if she wished for it to be. And it was just physical. The emotional part could be played just inside your head. Emotions could be fooled.

To bring happiness to someone at the deathbed. To make money. To seal contracts. To save yourself. To have mercy. To torture. To keep allies peaceful. To forgive. To forget.

The lust of sex was just hormones. The great of it was the stories you acquired to make someone happy.  Yet, they were there. Talking about it as if was the world greatest invention. Little did they knew that the place belonged to Death itself.

Suddenly, those warm faces joking with her after the lust of the night that had passed suffocated her. Who was she to think that she could joke with them? Her mates and friends – those who she could tell her story to, to who could comfort her, those who could understand her jokes – were all dead. Those children didn’t know who she was. Didn’t know her life. Some people would said that people don’t need to know one’s life to know someone. But those were wrong, because only were someone because of the life one had lived.

And they would never know her. There was her destined family. But they would never know.

Arya flew away from the Gryffindor Tower, just wishing that Death would have mercy at her and finally kill its mistress. But Death was faithful and would never use its powers on its mistress.

 

Regulus Black watched as the fallen angel cried out on the highest tower of Hogwarts. Her name was Arya Prorsa, the whore. Sharp scissors opened up and closed, cutting her ebony strands in several length around her ears. She wasn’t even looking as the black threads were blown by the wind in a curious dance, deadly. Her whole body was sustained at the high tower only by her thin heels, the remaining parts of  her feet swinging up and down. Only one could say that her legs were strong, but that was an amazing feat. Yet, deadly. And she didn’t seem to care that her life depended on her legs’ strength as she imitated the wind, whistling sharply. She rose one of her feet, cuddling it against her thighs.

_Tchac, tchac…tchac._

One. One fucking stiletto heel was everything that stopped her death, and her head was moving gracefully in a sort of dance, her hands slowly chopping down her hair. He caught a sight of her face. Her eyes were blank, and she didn’t seem to breathe. The whistles pointed out against it, but she wasn’t really breathing. Her chest hasn’t moved in almost five minutes.

She didn’t wish to die, Regulus noticed. She was like a living corpse.

“I thought you were more strong-willed than this, you know.” He said, curiously seeing that she didn’t seem to be slightly affected by his voice.   _So, she knew I was here._

“It’s not about having a stronger-will. Everyone dies. Fools try to hold to life. This only brings destruction. To those who go against nature.” Arya Prorsa whispered, throwing her scissor away in the air. The silver instrument disappeared at the same instant.

“Yet, you are going against it. Are your legs charmed, _mon cher putain_? Never heard of it.”

The girl laughed. “Of course not. Why would someone invent such useless spell? There isn’t any. Wordless and wandless magic could produce this I presume, but I’m not doing it. My legs are just strong, Reggie.”

“Should have known that sex wasn’t your only hobby, sweetheart. Still, great job going against Mother Earth.”

Arya laughed mirthless. “Oh, Reg. It’s magic. The whole thing with it is going against the world reason. Do you wanna bet?”

“Surprise me, dear.”

“Indeed I will. It’s a pity I cannot do the same to myself, not anymore.”

There was something in her voice. Or better, nothing. She had just made a bet, everyone knew that bets excited people eager to prove themselves. However, she had said it casually. He knew it was a real bet, but everything else created the image of a joke. But it wasn’t, because there wasn’t any kind of happiness in her. The lioness had betted, but she already knew the end of that bet.

After accepting the bet, Arya didn’t move. Neither did Reg before fifteen minutes passed and he finally allowed himself to sit. Yet, she didn’t even change her movements. Her head still danced with the wind and her lips whistled with it, too, but her feet never turned around to see him. She hadn’t change a millimeter on her performance. And Regulus knew she wasn’t really thinking.

Thirty minutes had gone when she stopped her lips, her head still in the same pace. “Sorry for the heart attack, Reg.” She said, restarting her exotic dance with the wind.

And then she jumped.

Regulus got up onto his feet, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. She had jumped, from the Tower. Morgana no…he hadn’t wished for her to…oh, Morgana. _Gods no…no,no, no-nononononoNO!_ As he looked down, sense talked to him, saying that she must have just jumped to the parapet.

Yet, she had not. No, her body was still falling down, the short strands of her blowing up on her face, but her lips didn’t produce any sound. Instead, she was smiling softly. She had no wand, broomstick, she couldn’t apparate on Hogwarts’s grounds.

Despair took over Regulus as he comprehended that a girl had just committed suicide in front of him. And he had done nothing to stop her. He had just watched, how could he? He should have brought her to safety when he had noticed the only thing that held her was her heels. Gods, he had betted with her. A deadly bet.

In his shock state, Regulus almost didn’t notice the shadows that wrapped around her falling body on the frozen minute. Just as the fright had started, it ended when the shadows delivered her again on the top of the Tower. She landed gracefully, as she took her own life and frightened wizards to death every day. She offered him a sad, broken and disappointed smile as he felt onto his knees, a hard and sharp breath leaving his lungs. His eyes wide as he shed scared tears.

“I supposed I’ve earned my money, haven’t I?” The witch asked lazily, inspecting her new hairstyle as it was the most interesting thing that had happened on her day. Huffing in disapproval, she snapped her fingers, fitting them into jaw-length crumpled locks.

Regulus just looked at her…retreating.

 

Arya licked her fingers, tasting the salty cum in her hands, her eyes never leaving the face of the girl. Her brunette hair spreader around her head, which moved up in a moan, the hazel orbs being shut by the girl’s eyelids.

“Oh, Gods…”

Olive skin against pale. It didn’t matter how much muscle Arya had acquired fighting under the sun, her white skin never left her. She smirked, licking the girl’s womanhood, her tongue sneaking on her most sensitive spots. The girl reached Arya’s shoulder, squeezing it hard as the older girl teased her. She was a muggleborn, a Hufflepuff, a seventh year, a child.

Arya grunted. She felt like a bloody pedophile shagging those kids. She had lived forty more years than the girl. Surely, the girl had been born twenty years before Arya herself, but Arya was older. When she was around fifty and her whole generation was dead or married – and then dead – Arya had resorted to dating muggles around her age. Well, the correct term was casual sex, as dating them could lead her to another bloody fight. Because she looked no older than twenty and her dates were around fifty or sixty, she had been called whore, gold-digger.

Arya didn’t hate muggles. Sure, they were a curse at her life and she had killed many of them, many of them were someone who she had fucked before. They had killed her family, her friends, her home, her world. But she couldn’t hate, she couldn’t even hate Voldemort, so why should she hate those muggles? They had raped, tortured, opened her alive and then sewed everything together while she was still awake. But since she was a child, Arya understood the human nature.

Humans were vicious. The most destructive element in the human mind was fear. Fear created aggressiveness. The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind was fear, and the oldest and strongest kind of fear was fear of the unknown. They would never understand magic, they would ever fear it. And fear kills, people were lead to dark because they feared light. Arya had long ago curled in the welcoming cold corner of the Dark Arts and she knew the feeling. People said that warriors and heroes belonged to light, but they didn’t understand that nobody could belong to anywhere when they lived with the amount of grief that soldiers did.

Arya left the girl panting. Her name…what was it? Yvonne Camphole, yes. She had never met the girl at the future. Something told her that the girl had become a healer and a Death Eater’s raid had killed her while she healed some kids. Brave girl, she deserved happiness. And she had never knew Arya, so she was safe. Cancelling the silencing spells on the bed, she kissed her temple before sneaking out the badgers’ chambers.

It was late at the night, the corridors were only occupied by Flinch and some prefects patrolling…and doing other things. The lioness felt battered, but that was a common feeling to her. She had tried to kill herself again today. Regulus was still on shock, she could say by the way he had looked at her at the dinner. When she was younger, Arya used to hide her suicidal thoughts from her friends. She had to be strong; and it wasn’t right, trying to kill herself when so many people depended on her; when so many people died and she was _blessed_ with living. And it hurt them – she remembered the time Hermione had found her with a knife piercing her heart, the girl had cried so much, thinking they weren’t enough for Arya. And in a certain way, they weren’t. Because they had died and left her. Only Death was enough.

But when the “us” had become “me”, nothing could stop Arya. She wouldn’t die anyway, so why should matter if she killed herself every day? People need her to fight, to plan, to save them; but they didn’t need to save the hero. Because the hero couldn’t be dead.

Arya stopped on her track when she felt something lurking behind her. Turning around, she saw a woman. High cheekbones highlighted the hollow cheeks, full natural rose lips in a smirking expression, big almond eyes flashing bright like a green bottle with emerald spikes, a button nose and round smooth breasts, an athletic bum and narrow waist with sexy swinging hips. Herself.

But she wasn’t looking at a mirror.

“Riddikulus.”

The woman laid dead on the ground. Arya sniggered, she was so predicable.

**Author's Note:**

> I need people saying that they like my work, so if you truly appreciate it, please show it - kudos, comments and bookmarks are always welcomed!


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